


Who is she? Clint!

by pidgectomy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Anne-OC, Gen, Original Character(s), anne's irish what do you expect smh, mmmlove that shit, so! much! swearing!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9332312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pidgectomy/pseuds/pidgectomy
Summary: On the way home from a workout, Clint finds a battered and bruised fourteen year old girl, who swears too much and all he can think is "???? she's tiny wtf"





	1. Chapter 1

It was a strange evening. Clint was on his way back to the Avengers Tower after a workout session in Central Park, when he heard muffled cursing and wincing coming from the alley to his left. It was a strange evening, because there was a teenage girl laying in a trash can, bruised and battered and sporting a very impressive black eye and a split lip.

Clint smiled reassuringly down at the fourteen-ish year old girl, who still hadn't noticed him at this point. "Hey kiddo," the girl jumped up and started staring at Clint suspiciously. "You okay in there?"

She nodded and slowly began to back away from him. Well, as far as you could get in a trash can. The bin fell over, sending the girl and various items of rubbish and used contraceptives spilling onto the cold concrete. Clint tried to help her up, but he got a slap in the face for his troubles and a whispered promise to "back the fuck off or I'll cut your dick off and feed it to a feral cat".

Clint rubbed his cheek and whistled. "You've got quite the language, kiddo." She glared at him. "It gets the point across." She cocked her head to the side suspiciously. "Who are you?"

Clint grinned. "I'm Clint Barton, nice to meet you. What's your name?"

The girl snarled at him. "Alright Clint, here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna walk out of this alley, go back to wherever you were going, and you're gonna forget all about this. Do you understand me, Clint?"

Clint gave a fake wince, and quietly noted the Irish accent. "I can't do that, kiddo. You're injured and you're probably in pain. Tell me your name, and we can find your parents or guardians and they can come find you, okay?" The girl snorted. "Sure, I'll tell you my name. While we're here, why don't I tell you my life story and I'll talk about all the different types of dogs I had growing up." Clint sighed. "There's no need to be sarcastic, kiddo. I'm trying to help."

"Take your help and shove it up your ass, Clint. " She said his name like it was a dirty word, and began to walk past him into the busy streets of New York City, clutching her side gingerly. Clint could see that her fingertips were dripping blood, and that her navy hoodie was soaked in the stuff.

Clint frowned, and began to follow her worriedly. "Hey kid, kid! Are you sure you're alright?" The girl huffed a strand of her brown neck length hair to the side. "I'm just dandy. Now please leave me alone." Clint pointed to her side. "You are seriously injured and you are losing blood, now tell me your name so I can help you!" The girl hated to admit it, but Clint was right. She knew she was losing blood, but was too stubborn to give in. "My name is Anne. Now can you fix me up or not, Clint?"

Clint grinned, and gently gestured behind him. "This way, Anne"

"Welcome to my humble abode, Anne." Said Clint, as the two of them reached the Tower. "Humble? You call living at this overgrown dildo humble?" Anne said disbelievingly. "Why do live at the Avengers Tower anyway? Is Captain America your sugar daddy or something?"

Clint stared at her. "I'm an Avenger, although I wouldn't mind a piece of Steve's ass." Anne squinted at Clint's face. "Shit, really? I thought you looked familiar." He smirked, and waved her forward towards the overly fancy electric doors. "Come on, we need to get your side checked out quickly, you're still bleeding." Anne rolled her eyes, but followed him anyway.

Clint waved to the receptionist at the desk. "There's no need to worry, she's with me, Carol. Have a nice day." Anne awkwardly waved at the receptionist (Carol, it would seem) and was suddenly worried about the amount of dirt and blood trailing in behind her, messing up the pristine floor. She jogged carefully over to the speed walking man, and winced at every step she took. Fucking other people, attacking her, taking her shit and trying to stab her with their shitty penknives. She should've just left that shithole while she had the chance. But she couldn't leave her there, not with them. "Heh, that doesn't matter anymore." she thought to herself darkly.

The elevator doors closed silently, and Clint began humming a song under his breath. Anne took a shaky breath, and went pale as her side began to hurt even more if possible. "Hey Clint, I'm not feeling the best right now, so is there a way to speed up this thing?" Clint looked over to her and saw how shitty she looked. "Fuck, JARVIS can you speed this up please?"

"Of course, Agent Barton."

Anne bent over and clasped at her side. It was burning now and the pain was unbearable. "I don't even care if I'm hallucinating a British guy, or if this elevator is haunted, just give me stitches and I'll be fine." Tears of pain were beginning to drip down her cheeks. Clint gently held her up by her shoulders and ran out of the elevator once the doors were open and he ran onto the medical bay.

"JARVIS, can you get Natasha please?" Clint said as he laid the nearly unconscious Anne on a bed. "She's on her way, Agent Barton." Clint ran around the room, collecting painkillers, needles, thread and antiseptic gel.

Natasha hurried through the elevator doors. "What's wrong, JARVIS says you needed my help on the medical bay -" the question died on her tongue when she saw Anne bleeding on the bed, sharp green eyes so similar to her own, filled with pain and tears.

Natasha glared at Clint. "We'll talk about this later, Clint." But she helped Clint stitch up Anne anyway.

"What happened, kiddo? How'd you get so banged up?" Clint asked as he began disinfecting a particularly bad slash on her right forearm. "Fuck man, I don't know! A couple of assholes tried to take my shit. One of them had a knife. That particular skid mark stole my fucking money and my extra hoodie." Anne snorted angrily. "Fucking asshole."

"How many were there?" Natasha stared at Anne with a cold face. Anne looked her in the eye. "Why do you want to know? What's done is done, and I ain't snitching." Natasha cocked an eyebrow. "Humor me. How many?" Anne glared. "Three, including the fucker with the knife." Clint paused slightly, and gave Anne a disbelieving look. "You fought off three people at once?" Anne snorted. "Not very well it would seem." Anne was covered in bruises, scratches and cuts. Her lip was swollen and her nose was bent and bruised. The stab wound wasn't fatal, it only reached roughly an inch into her and there was no risk of infection. She'd be fine, if she rested for a while.

Natasha pointed to her injuries. "You're gonna need to rest, if you want your side to heal." Anne nodded. "I know, I have a place to crash at for a week or two." Clint shook his head. "Nah kiddo, you're staying with us until we're sure your side is all fixed up." He said it with such finality and certainty, it made Anne flinch.

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes!"

Anne got up off of the bed and glared at Clint furiously. "No, I will not stay here, I have a place of my own and people will get anxious if I'm gone too long, so if you'll excuse me, I have to go!" Anne grabbed her navy hoodie from the table beside her and stumbled off to the elevator. "Anne, are you okay? You're tripping over your own feet." Said Clint as he gazed worriedly at the teenager. "Well, you did pump me with so much painkillers that I think the ceiling is fucking purple, so maybe that's what's up, asshole" Anne retorted, as she pushed the elevator button. Natasha glanced at the girl discreetly. "Who's waiting for you?"

Anne scowled back at her. "A friend." The elevator doors opened and she stepped into it and she sighed. "Bye Clint, bye Natasha. Thanks for the help, but I have to go." She gave a small, apologetic look. "Thank you. Thank you, so much." She smiled gently, and the doors shut behind her.

Clint and Natasha stared at the doors quietly. "How much do you wanna bet that Anne is in trouble?" Clint asked, breaking the silence. "Twenty bucks?" Natasha stared at him. "Come on, let's follow her." Natasha got up and walked over to the elevator, Clint following her quickly. "JARVIS, can you track her on CCTV cameras, and keep us updated on where she is?"

"Of course, Agent Barton. Shall I inform Sir of this whole proceeding?" Clint shrugged. "Sure, why not. He's gonna yell at us either way." Natasha rolled her eyes, and dragged Clint out of the elevator and out of the building.

"Let's go, Clint."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter two everyone! I hope you enjoy it

Anne walked quietly through the streets of New York, wincing gently whenever someone knocked against her injured side. She was on a mission. Anne needed to go back, to take her back. Her hoodie covered her face, and her worn trainers masked her footsteps as she walked down the dark alley she was attacked in. Well, by attacked, Anne meant that she was beaten up by the gang members that were sent after her when she tried to escape with her sister. Anne sighed. She had no idea where Gràinne was, she just knew that the gang members had her.

Anne needed her sister. She needed Gràinne back. Gràinne was sweet and kind, like an angel that had fallen from grace. Gràinne was the literal embodiment of the internet meme "beautiful cinnamon roll, too sweet for this world, too pure". People always said that they don't look like sisters. Anne had thick, short, dark brown hair and sharp green eyes, whereas Gràinne had silky, long golden hair and sparkling blue eyes. They had the same nose, and the same splash of freckles across their cheeks and nose.

Whenever either of them were sad, they'd reach over to each other and trace their freckles and talk about stars and constellations and would play connect the dot in them.

Anne smiled at the memory, and her resolve hardened. There was no way in hell, that those fuckers were going to hurt her baby sister.

Anne reached the metal back door of an abandoned building, and pounded on the door furiously. When the rusty slot opened, Anne glared at the pair of eyes staring at her, and showed them the tattoo she had on the back of her left hand. It was a branded crystal ball, a simple circle on a rectangular base. The skin on her hand was blistered and scarred, the skin still raw and red despite it healing completely a few months ago. "Let me in. I need to talk to Mr. Teller."

The slot shut with a snap, and Anne could hear locks being opened quickly, and the door opened, revealing a young man, about eighteen-ish, hiding slightly behind the door. "He's been expecting you, Anne." He said quietly, looking down to avoid eye contact. Anne nodded. "Thank you, you can go back to your post now." She said with an air of authority she didn't have and confidence she didn't feel. The boy nodded, brown hair brushing the tips of his ears, and sat in the creaky wooden chair and stared at the door, his back straight and his grey eyes never straying from the rusty, brown slot.

Anne wanted to look back, to tell him to run away from this shithole and never come back to New York, but she didn't. She had a mission to complete and a sister to find.

She strode down the badly lit hallways, with peeling wallpaper, until she found the door she wanted. It was the same as all the other doors she passed, brown, dull and otherwise unassuming. But behind this door, a madman sat in tacky thrift shop suits and foul cigars that stained the walls grey.

Anne took a shaky breath, and rapped on the door. A burly man in a stained white tank top and khaki pants opened the door and led her into the office. Anne couldn't help but snort at him. "Nice pants, douchebag. Did you get them from your grandpa?" The man snarled, and pinned her against the wall by her throat.

"Now, now Rufus, play nice with our local escape artist." Anne looked over to the man behind the desk, who was sorting out documents while smoking a cigar. He was short and squat, with a massive moustache and a balding head with strands of grey hair peeled across his massive head. He had a brown suit and a stained silk shirt from the seventies on, and Anne could smell the intense body odour coming from the guy. He was vile. He was disgusting. He was Mr . Teller.

Rufus hesitated, but decided against disobeying and he let Anne drop to the floor, coughing and taking deep breaths in and out. Mr. Teller ignored her, and continued doing his paper work, puffs of smoke billowing out of his mouth like a dragon breathing vile, fungal smelling fire.

Anne stood up off of the floor, and looked at the man infront of her. "Good evening, Anne. How are you? It's lovely weather this evening -"

"Where's Gràinne?" Anne interrupted. Mr. Teller glared at her, and whistled at Rufus. The brute walked over to her and punched her in the gut, effectively knocking Anne of air. "You don't interrupt me when I'm talking, little lion, we've been over this." Mr. Teller growled, and nodded at Rufus again. He kicked Anne in the ribs, making her cry out in pain. Mr. Teller sighed, and nodded at Rufus again. The brute grabbed Anne's hair and pulled her up to look at Mr. Teller. "I will have Rufus continue to do this until you apologise for your inhibition to use proper manners, little lion." Rufus kicked Anne in the back of the knee and punched her in the face repeatedly. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Mr. Teller!" She cried, blood dripping from her nose. Rufus dropped her, and stood behind Mr. Teller. He smiled. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" Anne frowned at him, but said nothing.

Mr. Teller finished his paperwork, stacked it neatly and put it in a faded brown file in his desk drawers. "Do you know why you aren't dead, little lion?" Mr. Teller asked suddenly, as Anne stood up to look at the man. "Because I have great personality?" She joked, smiling weakly as she tasted blood on her lips. Mr. Teller stared at her. "It's because I ordered it so." He flicked cigar ash into an ash tray, and pointed the foul smelling thing at her. "You are alive because of me, and don't forget that, little lion."

Anne gazed at Mr. Teller pleadingly. "Sir please," Anne's green eyes were wide and innocent, and she stared at Mr. Teller. "Where is my sister Gràinne?" Her voice cracked when she said her sisters name, and tears began to gather in her eyes. Mr. Teller looked at the teenager infront of him and sighed. "Gràinne is in with all of the young ladies. They're on a boat to Syria, to become lovely young brides to old men."

Anne stared, horrified at Mr. Teller. "She's ten years old!" Mr. Teller shrugged, and leaned back in his chair. "That's the way the cookie crumbles, little lion. Men paid top dollar for those young beauties, and they're paying for shipping, so I get rid of useless soldiers and I don't even have to lose money! It's like killing them, but I get a profit from it!" Mr. Teller wheezed out a small laugh, and took a celebratory swig from a bottle of cheap scotch.

"I'll kill you!" Anne screeched, and lunged across the table to claw at his face with her long nails. Rufus tackled her, and straddled her to the ground and began to punch her. Anne took no notice, and scratched at his eyes until they bled and she yelled as she head-butted him in his injured face and grabbed his head and knocked him against the wall, knocking him unconscious. "Fuck, that hurt my face! How thick is your skull, asshat!"

She glared over at Mr. Teller and saw that he had a gun pointed at her. Anne didn't care. Gràinne was gone. And Anne was going to get fucking revenge. "Come now, little lion. Your sister, I knew her as little kitten, she had learned from you hadn't she? She screamed, and cried and attacked my men when they collected her to put in the shipping containers. One of my men has a scar from it, all down from his right eye to his jawline." Anne smirked. "Gráinne learned from the best." Mr. Teller grinned, showing off his yellow teeth. "She struggled so much, we had to shoot her." The smirk on Anne's face dropped, and turned into a furious glare. Mr. Teller cackled. "When we shot her, we threw her in the container anyway and she was still alive." Anne began to shake with anger, and she clenched her fist tightly. "She's going to bleed out all by herself as the other girls in the container cry and weep for her." Mr. Teller smiled widely. "She's going to die, and you're going to be all alone with no family, no money and no place to stay. She's going to die, little kitten is going to die, and you're going to be alone forever, little lion -!"

Anne cut him off, and sprinted toward him. The man readied his gun to fire, but Anne yanked the gun from his hands, punched him in the nose, and pointed it at the obese man. "You won't shoot me little lion, I know you won't!" Mr. Teller yelled, blood dripping down onto his cheap brown suit. "Watch me, asshole." Anne sneered, aimed at his ugly silk shirt and fired.

\-------------

Clint and Natasha walked in the shadows, hiding from security cameras and keeping their hoods up. Clint's phone buzzed in his pocket, vibrating gently against his hip. It was a text from JARVIS, saying that Anne had walked into the alley at 11811 N. Tatum Boulevard. "Nat, J says that Anne's in this alleyway but, that's where she was attacked," said Clint confusedly. Natasha frowned. "Maybe she dropped something there?" Clint shrugged. "Who knows," he whispered, as he peeked around into the alley he found Anne in.

The two spies decided to wait for her in the pizza place across the street. They were half way through the extra large pepperoni pizza they ordered to share,when a gunshot echoed from the alley, and a small figure raced out of there, and sprinted down the sidewalk. The two assassins raced out of the pizzeria, and chased after the small figure.

They weaved in and out of the bustling streets of New York , as they began to catch up with the running target. The person running away turned down an alleyway, but was trapped in by a dead end. They turned around and took their hood down, revealing their bruised face, the blood hiding her freckles. "What the fuck do you want Clint?" Anne whispered, tears spilling from her eyes and running tracks through the dirt and grime on her face. "What happened in there?" Natasha asked, panting heavily. "It's none for your goddamn business, alright!" Clint sighed. "How did you get even more injured in the hour and a half we left you alone?" Anne shrugged, and looked down guiltily. "I'm clumsy?"

Natasha gave Anne a look that screamed "That's bullshit." Anne sighed, and rubbed her bruised knuckles on her faded blue jeans. "You want answers? Either take me to that Chinese place across the street, or we go back to Dildo Tower and we talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you liked the chapter, leave a comment and leave a kudos!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!

Natasha hailed a cab, and the three of them sat in silence as the taxi driver drove them to the Avengers Tower. It was a long twenty minutes, the sky was beginning to become light in the oncoming dawn. They wordlessly got out of the taxi, and Clint paid the fee and sent the driver on his way.

"Hey Carol! It's a beautiful morning, isn't it?" Clint grinned, as he waved to the receptionist. Carol glared at him. "Mr. Stark wants a meeting with you and Ms. Romanoff and the young lady as soon as you reach the private floors." 

Clint winked. "Awesome, thanks Carol." She didn't respond, she just went back to typing away at her computer.

Anne snorted nervously. "How dead am I?" Natasha smiled softly, and placed a gentle hand on Anne's shoulder. "We'll deal with him. Come on, Tony's not going to be any less angry with us if we're late." 

The elevator ride was awkward and silent, nearly spoken words clogging the air like smoke in a burning building. In the silence, Anne had time to think. Gràinne was dead, and she wasn't even able see the body. Anne wasn't able to stroke her soft hair again, or hold her hand. Anne was never going to be able to trace the Big Dipper in her freckles ever again. Anne nearly burst into tears at the thought, but covered it with a sniff and a cough. 

Shit, how was she going to explain this to the fucking Avengers? She killed a man! It wasn't even self defence, she started the whole fight. Anne sighed quietly, and shifted her position guiltily. But she remained quiet. 

The elevator doors opened on the communal floor of the Avengers Tower, and the three of them could see Tony pacing slightly, his arms in his jean pockets.

Clint walked out and cleared his throat. "Hey Tony, what's up -?" Tony cut him off with a glare. "You invited a civilian into our home? A young, teenage civilian? Seriously!" He yelled angrily. Natasha glared at Tony. "She's injured,Tony! She was stabbed earlier today." Tony turned to scowl at Natasha. "Then take her to a hospital." Anne glared at Tony. "Hospitals can't accept me." Clint stared at Anne. She shrugged. "Technically, I'm an illegal immigrant." Anne smiled awkwardly. "Surprise, I guess." Anne tried to purse her lips, but decided against it when it made her face flare up in pain.

Tony gestured wildly with his arms. "What the fuck?" He yelled to no one in particular. "I'm calling the cops, maybe the courts can help this kid out," he sighed, and pulled his phone out from his back pocket. Anne hurriedly rushed over to him, grabbed his phone and tucked it into her bra. "How about you don't do that?" She squeaked nervously. "Anne, what the fuck?" Clint furrowed his eyebrows in confusion at her, before shaking his head and turning to face Tony. "Tones, don't call the cops. We can get her some documents. Hell, we can forge them. Just don't call the cops." Tony looked at Clint disbelievingly. "Clint, she just stole my phone!"

Anne scowled. "I'll give it back once you swear not to call the cops!"

"And you trust me enough to believe that I really wouldn't?"

"No, but the promise will make me feel better."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Fine, I won't call the cops. Now, give me back the phone." He reached out, but Anne darted back defensively. "No way, I don't believe you!" Tony glared at her. "Are you fucking joking?"

Natasha sighed, and stepped between the two angry brunettes. "Alright ladies, let's calm down." "I'll calm down when that street rat gives me back my phone!" Anne glared murderously at Tony. "Call me street rat again asshole, and the phone is going up your ass!" 

Tony backed off, and ran his hand through his hair. "JARVIS, scan her face and look for background information." Anne snarled at the man. "Do that, and I'll fucking burn this place to the ground!"

"Do you feel threatened? Because it's kinda difficult to be scared of a kid that looks like a fucking lollipop kid."

Anne glared at him, then smirked evilly. She reached into her bra and took out the phone and began typing away. "Hey, hey kid! What are you doing?" Tony exclaimed, reaching past Natasha to get his phone back, but Anne danced gracefully out of his reach. "I'm finding your deepest, darkest secrets." She said sarcastically. "Maybe a few nudes to release to the press? Perhaps some new unpatented ideas to leak?" Anne muttered as she continued tapping away at the phone. 

Tony snorted nervously. "Sure, just hack into my phone that I have under a hand written firewall that I wrote myself." Anne sat down on the leather sofa next to her. "Done. Now, I could release everything on this phone to the public. But, I won't. Do you know why I won't?" she looked up at Tony whos' eyes were wide with surprise. "Because, sometimes, I'm not a complete fucking asshole and I respect secrets."

"I'm not a lollipop kid. I'm the motherfucking Wicked Witch of the West." Anne threw the phone to the shocked Tony. "So back the fuck off, asshole."

The two spies looked at each other from the corners of their eyes, and had a silent conversation.

"Holy shit, Nat! What just happened?"

"I don't know, but Tony looks like he's about to start crying. We should step in." 

Anne walked off to the kitchen, internally screaming in her head. She had just had a smackdown with Tony Stark, and had just come out on top. That usually would've blown her mind, but the nights events clouded her mind. But she distracted herself with the task of searching for some instant noodles, because even superheroes are too lazy to cook, or are too hungry to wait for take-out. After a few minutes, Anne finally found the noodles hidden behind a box of strawberry poptarts. She quickly busied herself with heating water and finding a bowl and fork. While Anne was bustling around the kitchen, humming gently to herself, Natasha had walked in and leaned against the counter. "Tony's never been yelled at by a fourteen year old girl before, congratulations." Anne was unfazed by Natasha's sudden appearance, and murmured a small "thank you" before resuming her search. Natasha reached into a cupboard underneath the stove, and handed Anne a white ceramic bowl. She accepted it with a smile. "I can add another packet for you, if you want some?" Anne offered, gesturing to the bubbling saucepan full of noodles. Natasha shook her head. "No, thank you. I find they taste like rubber." Anne shrugged. "You aren't wrong, they do taste like shit." Natasha chuckled, a small grin plastered on her face.

"Where'd you learn to hack like that? It's impressive-" Natasha began, but was interrupted by Anne laughing softly. "Save your interrogations for SHEILD prisoners. Unless, that's what I am, then go wild." She shrugged softly, and poured the noodles into the bowl. Natasha frowned. "Why would you think that you're a SHEILD prisoner?"  
7  
Anne smiled, and began eating the noodles, the fork gently clinking against the side of the bowl. "If I tried to leave, I would be stopped. If I give no answers, I will be trapped here until I leave. I stole Tony's phone, and let's be honest, he's not going to let me leave here either. This is just glorified house arrest, and I don't even live here." Said Anne, slurping up the noodles loudly, "Oh man, this tastes like rubber and college student tears" She stared at the surprised woman in front of her and smirked. "Oh please, you know it's true. Come on, help me clean up the mess I just made." Natasha helped Anne clean up and was really surprised by the amount of mess she made. All she did was make instant noodles.

As Natasha began to rinse out the saucepan, she looked over to Anne, who was wiping down the countertop with a damp cloth. "You aren't on house arrest Anne. If you want to leave, you can." Anne smiled softly. "Thanks Natasha." She continued to wipe down the counter until a devilish grin spread across her face. "Hey Natasha," She said evilly, turning around to face the red head. "Wanna play twenty questions?" Natasha nodded, smiling. "Sure, but let's establish some rules." Anne nodded. "Sure, what are they?"

Natasha began to count them off on her fingers. "One, you have to tell the truth. Two, you can pass a question, but as punishment you have to have a shot of lemon juice. And finally, number three, this stays between us. No spilling my dirty secrets, alright?" Natasha joked, nudging Anne gently with her shoulder. "It's a deal. I want to go first!"

"What is your full name?" Anne asked excitedly, hopping gently on her chair that was across from Natasha. "Natalia Alianovna Romanova. I changed it to Natasha when I came to the States." Natasha felt weird, sharing her secrets like this, but she wanted Anne's trust.

"What's your favourite colour?" the spy asked.

"Either green or blue. It changes. When's your birthday?" 

"The eighteenth of December." Natasha paused, and weighed her options. "Why did you go back to that alley?"

Anne frowned. "To take back something I left there. What's your favourite food?"

"Steve's spaghetti sauce. What did you go back for?"

"Someone close to me. What's your favourite animal?"

"Chimpanzees." Natasha decided to change her tactic. "What happened there?"

"An asshole did something to the person close to me. What's your lucky number?"

"Twelve. What did they do?"

"Killed them. If you were an animal, what would you be?"

Natasha mentally reeled back. Anne's friend was dead? Holy shit.

"A chameleon. Who was the person you went back for?"

"My little sister." Anne said quietly, tears shining in her eyes. "What is your favourite season?"

Natasha deflated. Damn, that was pretty shitty. "Autumn. Who killed her?"

Anne glared at Natasha. "The person who took us in when we left Ireland. What's your least favourite flavour of ice cream?"

"Pistachio. Why did you leave Ireland?"

Anne scowled, and looked away. "Our parents were murdered, we had to run from the people who did it. What's your favourite drink?

"Vodka, of course. I'm Russian. What was your sister like?"

Anne's scowl lessened slightly, and her mouth twitched into a small smile. "She was sweet, kind and smart. We didn't look alike at all, she had blonde hair and blue eyes, whereas I have brown hair and green eyes." Anne began crying softly. "She had the most adorable freckles, and you could trace stars in them." Anne laughed gently. "I taught her a lot. I taught her sarcasm, and how to give the perfect glare." She looked at the table, and traced swirling patterns on it with her slim fingers. "Not that she'd ever use it, she was too calm, too forgiving to glare at someone." She sniffed, and got up. "Excuse me." Anne raced off past Natasha and past the two men bickering in the other room.

Natasha looked at the retreating teenage girl, and decided that there was no way in hell anyone was going to hurt Anne ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Leave a comment and kudos, they really help :)


	4. Chapter 4

Anne burst past Clint and Tony, hair covering her face. What had she done? Now Natasha will think that she's crazy. Anne bereated herself viciously, searching for a room to hide in. “Fuck it,” she thought, running into a random room. She pushed open the door and slammed it behind her, resting her head on the door. She sighed shakily and wiped at her eyes, her scratchy gloves irritating her face. She fumbled with the lock and locked the door before turning to see where she was. 

It was a huge bathroom, with a shower and a bath and a ridiculously fancy toilet. “Of course,” Anne muttered sarcastically to herself. She walked over to the toilet and ripped some toilet paper off the roll. She pressed it to her eyes and nose, breathing deeply. She needed to think.

She killed someone. 

Someone is dead because of her.

He killed Gráinne, a bitter voice whispered in her head. He deserved to die, remember what he did to you, to the other children, to the other girls. If it wasn't you, it would be another one of your old team.

Anne sighed, and sat on the floor with her back to the door. She thought that somehow saying that he deserved it wouldn't hold up in court.

She curled her legs up to her chest and rested her head on her knees. Gráinne, Gráinne, Gráinne. Why did she have to die?

Anne waited for her to start sobbing, to scream and cry and declare to the world that it wasn't fair, what kind of world is this, what kind of God lets this happen?

But she simply sat there in silence, the words and curses she wants to scream bubbling up inside her. But she couldn't bring herself to do it, to do anything. She couldn’t find the energy to do it. She felt defeated, for the first time since her parents died, she was truly, truly done with everything. But at least back then she had Grainne to motivate her, to keep her going.

Her apathy was quickly overrun by anger, a burning, intense, raging anger that coursed through her veins like hydrochloric acid. Mr Teller was a sick man, no doubt about that. He sold children into war for profit, he smuggled drugs across borders using children, and Anne was too familiar with what happened if you were locked in a room alone with him. Her skin crawled at the thought. She began to hyperventilate, air burning her nose and throat despite how warm the building was. She got up and paced up and down the bathroom, fists clenching and unclenching. She dug her nails into her palms in an effort to calm herself down. She huffed, and started to shake her hands out when that didn’t work.

She paced up and down the sandy corridor, rusty rifle propped up against the wall. Harsh sunlight pierced through the high windows, the heat sweltering and filling the corridor like a poison. Her hands trembled and she could feel tears gathering and her features crumpling like an aluminium can. “Don’t be dead, don’t be dead,” she whispered like a prayer, voice cracking with nerves -

Anne shook her head and covered her face in her hands, whining pitifully. She couldn’t deal with this, she wanted to go home so badly. Her heart ached, it felt like someone had grabbed it in their fist and squeezed. She faintly heard this high pitched keening sound and it took her a second to realise it was her.

It was the sound of Anne realising her sister was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey yall
> 
> okay so I know I was gone for a very, verrrrrry long time and I'm super sorry. I'm going to try and keep a regular(ish) posting schedule of maybe every week or two? anyway, I'm really sorry I was gone so long so enjoy I guess

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Leave a comment if you want me to continue


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